


He Will Bear His Punishment

by ObliObla



Series: They Who Fight Monsters [1]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Chloe KNOWS, Dark, Gen, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Original Character Death(s), The LAPD has problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 21:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15759726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: Lucifer was crying.Lucifer was crying, and there was nothing Chloe could do.





	He Will Bear His Punishment

**Author's Note:**

> CW: homophobia, non-explicit abuse and death of a child, potential abuse of police power
> 
> I don't really know where this came from. I hope you like(?) it.

Lucifer was crying.

Lucifer was crying, and there was nothing Chloe could do.

A child had died. Caught with another boy, recently returned from one of those camps that was illegal in California but you could still find in Arizona. Shot by his father, in the back, trying to run away.

He was arrested almost immediately, hadn’t even tried to flee; just sat on his couch drinking a beer while the other boy ran, called the police.

It hadn’t even been their case.

It was open and shut, even if he was a cop; he’d confessed, in fact, proud that he had ‘saved his son from Hell’.

Lucifer wasn’t even supposed to be there, something about “pilot season, darling; so many actors needing my overpriced drinks to drown their sorrows in.”

But there he’d been, plucking a picture off some other detectives’ murder board, slipping it into his pocket, the heat of his quiet rage scorching her soul.

She’d laid a hand on his arm, “We’re all going out for drinks, if you want?”

It was Jacobson’s fault, really. Half a dozen rounds into the Paddock’s best Scotch—Lucifer didn’t drink swill and didn’t let his compatriots either, when he could help it—he’d started, as was every cop’s wont, to complain about the cases that hadn’t gone like he’d wanted.

“Ya know,” Jacobson slurred, voice rising to fill the bar, “it’s a pity…” he half fell over, his partner steadying him. He gestured in the way of drunk men trying to pretend sobriety and solemnity, “A pity, Roberts was a, a good cop and now… well, now it’s jus’ a bad sita… situ… deal. Jus’ a bad deal all ‘round.”

He lifted a glass, “To Roberts.”

Chloe could feel Lucifer simmering beside her, anger just on this side of contained, but she raised her glass with the other cops.

“Roberts,” they echoed; Chloe swallowed the bitterness down with the whiskey.

She turned to him, intending to say something like, “Let’s get out of here,” but Jacobson interrupted her.

“An’ anyway, I mean… I dunno _what_ I’d do if I found out my son was a f—”

Nobody saw it; even Chloe didn’t see it and she was looking for it, trying to stop it before it happened.

One second, Jacobson was leaning carelessly against a chair in the middle of the room; the next, he was slammed against the bar, Lucifer leaning over him, his voice low but carrying.

“It’s a good thing then,” he said, with a dangerous nonchalance, “that you’ll never have to find out.” His hand shot down; there was a rustle, a wet crunch, and a sudden, mindless scream.

Jacobson fell sideways, curling himself into a ball on the filthy Paddock floor.

Lucifer was gone; Dan blinked at her from across the room, face white, as Chloe walked out.

She had tried to call him, but it went to voicemail. She’d caught a cab to Lux but was told that no one had seen him. Eventually, exhausted, she had gone home… to find him, sitting on her couch, crying.

He was clinging to the picture of the boy like it was the only thing between him and a fall greater than the one from heaven had been. She sat next to him; he looked up, his eyes were red with hellfire, but also from tears.

He sniffed. “I… sorry,” his voice was raw, but steady.

She took his free hand, “It’s alright, anger makes us all do—”

“No,” he pulled his hand back; his face sharpened, tone turning cold, “I do _not_ apologize for rendering that… _filth_ infertile. Nor for _inconveniencing_ your colleagues.” He blinked, the fire disappearing, “but I do admit that my… timing could have been better.”

He slipped his hand back into hers, stared at the slightly rumpled picture, tears beginning to silently fall again.

Her mind replayed the incident. She had been so focused on the consequences—being ostracized from the rest of the police force had _hurt_ in ways she hadn’t expected; she was desperate to keep that from happening again—that she hadn’t really paid attention to what Jacobson had actually _said_. Shame burned hot across her face, her carefully constructed walls and compartmentalization fell away.

“I’m sorry,” she choked through sudden tears. His eyes met hers; he waited.

“I shouldn’t… I _can’t_ let my reputation get between me and justice. And the fact that it did in this case is… inexcusable.” Her gaze caught the picture Lucifer still had clutched in his hand; she let the rage she always pushed so far down rise.

Lucifer was smiling at her, through tears; it was not a nice smile, but it was kind to its depths. He put the picture down on her coffee table, between them. “Have I ever told you my name, I mean, my first name? The one my Father gave me even before I lit the stars?”

She shook her head; she didn’t trust her voice.

“Samael,” he flinched, as if just saying it hurt him, “the poison of God. His punisher even before I was His torturer. Before I questioned; before I fell.”

He bared his teeth, his eyes flashing; _he may act tame, but never imagine he’s been domesticated._

“I was his wrath, and I delivered it unto every creature he so desired.

“When I got my freedom,” he shrugged, “Insomuch as I have achieved it, did I pledge to never punish again?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Chloe felt compelled to respond, “No…”

“No,” he agreed, “Punishment is a part of me, no matter what I do. I vowed instead to punish those who _I_ believe deserve it. Not for Him, but for myself. And for the victims; you taught me that.

“So, I will visit the _monster_ that slaughtered his own child—and tortured him before that—and I will ensure that he finds his way to Hell when his miserable life ends,” he narrowed his eyes, fire dancing in their depths, “Are you going to try to stop me?”

Chloe stared at him, her expression hard; had she had fire of her own, it would be burning in her own eyes, “I have one question.” Trixie’s face swam before her; she tightened her grip on his hand.

“Ask it.”

“Can I come?”

His vicious smile should have scared her; instead, she felt rejuvenated, “Of course, Detective.” He stood, touched his fingers to his forehead, then to the picture.

“Shall we?” he offered his arm.

She took it.


End file.
